“I do care what they say, and I care what I feel. I want to fight my own way. I want to make a wad of money and build up a business of my own—”
“You're crazy! Why, here's one ready-made, and it will stand all kinds of building up—”
“Then let Skinner build it. I'll build my own. I do not want anybody to think I married your daughter for your money.”
“Matt, you poor, chuckleheaded boy, listen to me. I intend doing for you—”
“And that,” roared Matt Peasley, smiting the desk, “is the very reason why I shall not permit you to do anything for me. That's final, Mr. Ricks. I hope you will realize it's useless to argue with me.”
“I ought to by this time,” Cappy replied bitterly. “Very well, I've told you my business with you. Suppose you state your business with me.”
“I'd like to draw twenty thousand dollars from my credit on the Blue Star books.”
“Huh! So you want to dig into that money the recharter of the Unicorn is bringing you, eh, Matt?”
“If you can spare it, Mr. Ricks.”
“Of course I can spare it—only I'll not. If you want that money, Matt, sue for it; and since you haven't any documents to prove you have it coming to you, I suppose you will agree with me that a suit would be useless expenditure of time, money and energy.”